


Off With The Masks

by ThisShallNeverBeMentioned



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Fake AH Crew, Freeform, M/M, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned/pseuds/ThisShallNeverBeMentioned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riding the high of a job well done, and the comfort in coming down from the sky to the stars below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off With The Masks

Honestly, Ray’s amazed that he managed to escape in one piece, heart running a mile in his chest and the high of success keeping him lightheaded. Or maybe that’s the cold air and the altitude, the whoosh of the wind rushing up past him and his harness and catching in his parachute. The straps are digging into his shoulders a little, sore from the kick of his rifle and rocket launcher, but it feels like a victory that that’s the only discomfort he has right now.

The city lights stretch out off to one side as he circles around, twinkling in the inky darkness, the closest thing to seeing stars in Los Santos unless you cared to take to the mountains. Telltale red and blue flashes in the distance, but it’s far enough away to not be a threat, and all a part of the plan, however many last minute adjustments were made. They’re all still alive, he knows from the radio headset before he jumped from the helicopter, and probably several grand richer, but most importantly alive.

A quick adjustment to the steering lines, and he’s never been so glad to see the orange guiding lights of the airport runway. He can just make out the headlights of one of the Crew cars, driving towards a cargo bob landed haphazardly half on the grass. Most likely a Gavin parking job, Ray thinks with a short laugh that’s lost to the wind, and the grin on his face just grows.

 _They’re all alive_.

The chute dips lower, and he eases up on the brake lines, letting himself drift in tight circles down, down, down. He aims for the grass, maybe fifty feet from the cargo bob and the car pulling to a stop beside it, and soon the ground is rushing up to meet him. Ray gets his feet under him, legs bent and knuckles tight on the lines. He slides on his heels, staggers a few steps forward, and his knees promptly buckle under him, depositing him in a heap on the soft earth with the chute billowing down around him.

He’s almost tempted to just lie still for a while, exhaustion settling in, but he’s not exactly comfortable all tangled up in straps and buckles, and his friends are just a few yards away. So he flicks open what buckles he can reach, and rolls over and out from under the parachute, sitting back on his heels to undo the carabiner clasp and the straps across his chest.

There’s a shout, and he looks up, sees the familiar figures piling out of the cargo bob and the car, voices muted by the distance and the blood still rushing in his ears. He raises an arm and waves at them, trying to get across a vague _I’m alright_ message to them as he struggles to rid himself of the harness.

His fingers are numbed by the cold, and feel clumsy, a feeling mirrored in his legs when he stumbles upright. _Ground shock_ Ray thinks hazily, and finally drops the harness, steps away from the crumpled parachute.

He’s only taken a couple of steps towards them before he hears another shout, this one slightly softer and more distinct, what sounds like his name; he looks up to see two of the figures embracing beside the cargo bob, another two standing between them and the car, and another running. Towards him.

Ray blinks, half trips over his own feet, and stares forward, confused, still walking towards his friends. He thought he’d given them the gist that he’s unhurt, and is at a loss as the running figure approaches, even more so when of all the guys he sees that it’s _Ryan_ , the black skull mask a dead giveaway. The confusion just grows as the mask is shoved up onto the top of Ryan’s head by one hand, the face paint design underneath no less intimidating.

He’s at a loss.

Two more slow steps is all he manages, mouth opening to ask, to reassure, to say _something_ , though every single one of his words gets lost as Ryan reaches him, the momentum almost sending him crashing into Ray. There’s no collision, though, not of that kind, because one of Ryan’s hands catches Ray around the waist while the other hand cups the back of his head, hauls him close, and a pair of lips crash down painfully onto his.

The first thing that shoots through Ray’s mind is the sudden understanding of why Ryan pushed his skull mask up.

The second is the hyper-awareness of the warm and insistent, almost harsh press of a mouth against his own, of Ryan’s body, curled over and chest pressed against his, motionless as though he’s holding his breath, and the grip of his fingers in Ray’s hair and at the small of his back. Then Ryan breathes out shakily through his nose and his mouth gentles and Ray can suddenly feel more than just another face mashed against his own. It’s surprise that makes him part his own lips, lick at them unconsciously and graze Ryan’s with his tongue.

He tastes of paint and ash.

A shudder goes through Ryan, and his grip softens as his mouth does, falling open and lax, millimetres from Ray’s, and Ray almost goes to close that distance again when he feels the fingers in his hair move. They tug at something, and it takes Ray a moment to remember the tie to his own half mask, the white cover around his eyes easily forgotten considering how used to it he is. He’s fallen asleep in it more than once.

Ryan’s nose brushes against his, the hand at his back smoothes slowly over the top of his T-shirt, and the mask goes loose on his face as Ryan’s fingers pull apart the knot in the tie. It’s drawn off to one side, not allowing for any space to come between them, and dropped down to the ground at their feet.

His eyes are closed, a reflex of the mask being removed, and it takes Ryan’s fingers returning to card through his hair again, almost hesitantly, for him to open them.

It’s odd, looking at Ryan without either of their masks on, so up close. It’s not that they’ve never seen the other without, whenever they go to change pre-heist, but this is different. More than just a fleeting glance, and much more intimate. Ryan’s face paint is smudged and easily overlooked in the darkness, and so Ray’s eyes are drawn to his features more than the design. To the surprisingly smooth brow, the sharp line of his nose, the bright deep eyes, blue even in the dim light.

In return, Ryan is looking at him, gaze moving hungrily over his face, and an unwitting shiver runs down Ray’s spine. Ryan notices, of course he would, with his hand on Ray’s back and his eyes on his face, and his gaze grows briefly concerned before it softens. Fingers push up to cradle the back of his head, and Ray’s eyes slip closed as Ryan leans in.

He kisses him carefully, slow and nearly chaste but for the few times he runs the very tip of his tongue across Ray’s lips. The rushing is back in his ears, an effect of running on adrenaline the entire night, and of the strange wonder of kissing and being kissed in the dark on a runway after a dangerous criminal maneuver.

Ray’s hands move from their lax position at his sides, up to rest on Ryan’s upper arms, gripping lightly at the leather jacket, and he leans into the kiss a little more.

All his friends are here, in this airport, alive and well and a little bit richer, and there might not be any stars in the sky but he’s okay with the runway lights instead, with the safety of the dark, and with the unexpected comfort in a man with bright eyes.

With his mask on the ground.

 


End file.
